'The Architecture of Ireland'

     The majority of my books are in storage. Most of them subsist in the the bf's mum's garage. They are not happy, and their distress is my distress. We really, really need to move to somewhere bigger. It's like living a sort of exile. This week I had a rummage in a box right at the bottom of the stack and lamenting the damage to some of the books found an old favourite 'The Architecture of Ireland' by Maurice Craig, the publisher Batsford. I just had to bring it home, give it a little holiday. It was published in 1982, but the layout looks ten years older, and it is a delight, being concise but full of engaging detail. It is also generously illustrated with both photographs and architectural drawings, mainly plans. It even has a couple of pages of photographs of 19th century masonry techniques. How could anyone not but be filled with pleasure at such generosity?

     Anyway, my main reason for this post is the rather moving concluding paragraph of the book. I hope I shall be forgiven for quoting it in full.

     "A hundred years of Irish weather have had their way with the latest buildings which have appeared in this narrative. Of all the influences which have moulded them, the climate must seem the most pervasive: its very fickleness a constant to be relied upon. Yet even the weather has seen secular changes in the past three thousand years. Geological time is measured in vastly longer spans, and the rocks beneath must be counted as even more permanent than the rain and wind above. Yet we have lived to see the relationship between the buildings and the rocks, for the first time in history ignored and abruptly set at naught. Nearly all the quarries from which these buildings came are now no longer open, and the sites and names of many are forgotten. The order of nature is now no more regarded than are those lesser orders which so long ruled the art, and now it is time that the account be closed."

     The end of history. Similar idea is to be found in W Douglas  Simpson's 'The Ancient Stones of Scotland'; the last chapter of which is entitled 'The end o' ane auld sang'. Modernity killed the tradition, in the process severing ourselves from our own pasts.

     The end of ane auld sang indeed.

     Short biographical note: Maurice Craig (1919-2011) was born in Northern Ireland and educated in both the UK and the Republic. He worked subsequently for the Ministry of Works in London.

Back to Gower

     I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky.

     A two bus trip Monday to Pobbles Bay and Pennard on peninsular Gower. A blustery, cool day at that and plenty of walking done. But, if I have to be totally honest, not enough sketching. Still it was wonderful to see the sea again. The tide was out when I arrived leaving acres of smooth pristine sand at Pobbles Bay. I hope these photographs capture the dramatic nature of the coastline.

Gower

      We've been away for a couple of nights, staying at Port Eynon on Gower. It's been just the ticket. We've done a lot of walking, exploring the coast line between Port Eynon and Oxwich. Beautiful, remote and empty. The sort of landscape that sometimes leaves me a little uneasy. I really do need some humanity, and that is one of the reasons why I found lockdown so hard to bear. Gower is, in Diane Williams words, 'a land set apart'. Somewhere quite special. A poetic, 'thin' place.

      Wednesday afternoon took us to within sight of The Sands at Lower Slade. Yesterday we went further walking over to Oxwich via Oxwich Green. Horton and Oxwich Green are both delightful, but quite different. The last time I was in Oxwich was Boxing Day 2015 in very different weather; overcast and wild. The beach the haunt of fearless surfers. Yesterday it was full of holiday makers.

     Lunchtime was an extraordinary treat: we had lunch at The Beach House, Hywel Griffith's Michelin starred restaurant at Oxwich. The whole thing was purely serendipitous - the bf having, unbeknownst to me, emailed the restaurant in case of a cancellation - only for them to contact us when we were in Oxwich Green. It was needless to say marvellous. I had 'Flowering Courgette', 'Carmarthenshire Pork Belly' and 'Bara Brith Soufflé'. I'm still thinking about that soufflé. It was just exquisite. And the sherry, a Fernando De Castilla Cream Sherry, that was pretty damn good too. The return walk to Port Eynon was a sluggish affair.

     And then Friday morning a brief stop on the return journey in Penmaen to draw and photograph the church. Mostly Victorian, 1854-5 by R K Penson. Best 'Cambridge Camden Society' approved Middle Pointed. Lovely position on triangular village green.